Conversations With the Dead
by Bellethiel Lindariel
Summary: A series of post War character studies. First up: Neville; A Lion Worthy of Aslan.  Rated T just to be on the safe side


**_Author's Note:_** It seems I am in the mood for Character studies of late, hopefully I will be doing quite a few of these. I'm aiming to do each chapter in a different style. Enjoy!

I'm having trouble doing double spacing, I'm really not used to the format here on FF *sighs* Please bear with me whilst I'm learning the ropes.

**_Disclaimer:_** I don't own Harry Potter, or Aslan, property of these belong to J.K. Rowling and C.S. Lewis.

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**Conversations With the Dead: Chapter One**

**Neville; A Lion Worthy of Aslan**

A cold dead body lay in a tomb on the grounds of the school. A husk, a shell that was emptied of one of the greatest wizards of the time. Harry couldn't bring himself to return, to see the white marble that stood atop the body of one of the few people in his life that earned the title of 'father.' Neville understood that, in a way neither Hermione or Ron Weasley ever could. Every month Neville would make the trek out on the Castle grounds to visit the grave of Albus Dumbledore. Every month he would clear it of any plants trying to grow on top of it, he would wipe the marble and clean the dirt that splattered onto it from rain. Then after all of that, Neville would talk. There were many times that Albus Dumbledore took the time to listen to a young Neville Longbottom who had trouble with bullies and forgetfulness, the Neville that struggled to get the good grades, the Neville that felt so alone in the world and like the walls of the Castle were closing in on him. Dumbledore would never laugh at all the silly concerns that he would talk about over a Sherbert Lemon, a favorite of both of theirs. He would always listen with that grave air and the twinkle in his eye. He would never try to solve Neville's problems, but instead would ask the right questions that would get Neville to solve it, all by himself.

"You know Professor, if I could be half as good as you were with me to my students I'd be proud." He said as he cleaned the cold stone down with his hands.

"They're promoting me. I can't believe it, Head of Griffindor, I hope you'll be proud, I hope Mum and Dad are too." He gently coaxed a stubborn weed out of the ground. "Over the summer I'll be working with some of the Healers at St. Mungo's with refining the Wolfsbane potions. Who would've thought that I'd have ended up helping with refining a complex potion?" Neville gave a lopsided grin.

"You of course, Dumbledore, you always said that I had it in me. Sometimes I wished I had believed it sooner, maybe things could've turned out differently." He shook his head away from the could-have-beens and his smile blossomed into a full one.

"Harry's had another kid, just got an owl from him. A young boy called Albus Severus. I think you'd have liked that. He's getting better, but I still don't think he's going to be able to visit you for another couple of years. He still finds it hard. We all do in a way, we all miss those that have left us behind." He felt his voice grow thick and tried to swallow as he felt the tears sting behind his eyes. "It's hard to work here at times. Most of the time I'll be heading into breakfast and expecting to see you at the Staff table and instead I'll see Minevra. It's been years and yet, it seems like just yesterday that the War right here on the grounds was fought."

He paused in his cleaning of the tomb and sat down cross legged. "I still feel the weight of Griffindor's Sword in my hand. Still feel the resistance of slicing through the snake's head. I have the worst nightmares of seeing all those bodies lined up and sometimes it's hard at the feasts not to see them still." He paused, rubbing his eyes a little.

"Ron says it's all a part of the post traumatic stress syndrome, that we all should talk to each other about it, or at least see a psychologist or something. I guess living with Hermione has rubbed off on him, he's finally using that head of his."

Neville laughed as a thought crossed his mind. An image of them as first years leaving one of their first Charms classes and Ron making fun of Hermione and all of them laughing, and then the troll being set loose in the Castle.

"We've all grown up, we've all made something of ourselves. We did what no-one thought a bunch of ill-trained teenaged wizards could do against one of the most powerful Dark Wizards, we survived, more than that, we are living our lives out. Doing what we had barely dared to dream during those dark times. I wish you could see all those students of yours, wish you could be here and a part of the rebuilding, if only to see all the good that you taught us being put into action." He heaved a sigh and stood, his knees cracking from stiffness. "Well, that's pretty much the news for this month. See you next time Dumbledore, send my love to Gran, Mum, Dad and all the rest." He stooped and laid a bouquet of Rosemary and Sage by the foot of the marble tomb and turned to start his walk back to the Castle.

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Albus Dumbldore felt his heart swell with pride as he watch the young man who had once been a quiet, clumsy, forgetful and unassuming boy leave. He would do as he had done before and pass on the news to the others that were still watching over and waiting for the loved ones left behind. Albus had never stopped watching over them. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginevra, Draco, Neville and the members of the Weasley family, the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore's Army. He delighted in every achievement made by each of his students, but out of all of them, Neville was the one he was proud of the most. The frightened young boy had turned into a lion worthy of Aslan, he had a heart of gold. Brave and pure, compassionate and nurturing, patient and guiding. Albus saw that Neville still had a long and eventful life ahead of him, along with Harry, Hermione, Ron and Draco, he would help rebuild the Wizarding World into something more. The entity that was once known as Albus Dumbledore looked down at the simple bouquet left for him. Rosemary and Sage. Remembrance and Gratitude. Little did Neville know that he deserved it more than Albus did.


End file.
